A Magic Beyond
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: It's amazing what an adorable six-year-old kid will bring out of a group of bitter, tired, college-age music students.  Journey back to a time when the world was big, kindness was life-changing, and Harry Potter knew how to dance.  COMPLETE!
1. Meet the Players

Disclaimer: Harry does not belong to me. The Dursleys do not belong to me. However, in a surprising twist, everyone else in this story DOES belong to me. W00T! Any resemblance the characters bear to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Rating: PG-13, for casual discussion of mature themes.

Category: Drama, Humor

Summary: It's amazing what an adorable six-year-old kid will bring out of a group of bitter, tired, college-age music students. Journey back to a time when the world was big, kindness was life-changing, and Harry Potter knew how to dance.

Author's Note: Two things inspired this story. The first is Harry's astonishingly, dare I say _inexplicably_ positive attitude in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, at least when one considers his home life. The second is Dumbledore's comment about music, which I think is worthy of being embroidered and hung on a wall.

Random fact: This story starts in the spring and ends in winter. But it's short, so I felt it was appropriate to start posting it now.

Another random fact: I am a college music student (violinist/violist).

On with the story!

"_Ah, music … a magic beyond all we do here!" – Professor Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

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**A MAGIC BEYOND**

**Chapter One: Meet the Players**

The world was so big, Harry thought. Everything was just … big. Grownups were big, fences were big, schoolrooms were big, trains were even bigger than schoolrooms, and this fantastic place he'd arrived at, as far as he could tell, was astronomically humongous. He could only see parts of the Welcome Map between the heads of Aaron Holmes and Dirk Weatherby, but the Kew Gardens looked like it stretched off to infinity in every direction. Then again, Harry was only aged six-and-one-half, and while he was rather precocious in many ways, he'd always been a little short for his age.

So it was natural for Harry to think everything was enormous, and today promised to be enormously exciting. When Mrs. Bloom told the first-year class that they would be visiting Kew for the day and handed out permission slips for signatures, Harry was at first crestfallen. He wasn't sure how Uncle Vernon would ever sign the paper. But then it occurred to him that perhaps it was all in how he put it to his uncle. So he confronted him in the living room that evening and said …

"Sir, my class is going on a field trip. Will you sign my permission form?"

"Ha!" Uncle Vernon laughed maliciously, his belly jiggling. He sneered at Harry. "Why should I sign that stupid form? So you can ignore your studies? Perhaps cause a little mayhem? I know what you get up to at school, boy, don't think I don't!"

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, it's either go with my class or stay here in the house all day, being a … what do you call it? An annoyance?"

That did the trick. His uncle grumpily signed the form and told him to get out. And here he was, slip hastily signed, shoes inexpertly tied, ragged jumper knotted at his waist, ready for a day of fun. He couldn't believe his luck.

Of course, there was homework, since this was supposed to be an educational field trip. On the trip over, Mrs. Bloom told her first-year class that they had to write three paragraphs about their day, state one fact they learned, AND draw a picture of something they particularly enjoyed about their visit. Everybody moaned at this, except for Harry, who was just so happy to be out in the fresh air that he didn't care if he had to write and illustrate three books about his experience.

"Queue up, everyone, queue up!" Mrs. Bloom shouted.

Harry, surrounded by a throng of chattering children, squeezed into the queue between Marianne Hedd and Julie Thrope and marched forward. He could just hear Mrs. Bloom at the head of the line (which seemed miles off) telling them they would be starting their visit with a tour of the Secluded Garden, which was supposed to be very peaceful and very beautiful. Mrs. Bloom boomed out that they would also have to be very quiet upon entering. The class tromped along, shushing each other and laughing.

* * *

After six dissonant attempts in a row, Jo Weitzel took her viola off her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Lisa Prewitt across the quartet. Thanks to nearly illegible parts and general exhaustion, "Autumn Leaves" was sounding more like "Autumn Left." Tempers had begun to flare. 

"What, Jo?" Lisa asked testily, sweeping some of her long blonde hair from her shoulder.

Ocean-eyed Lisa was their first violinist, a stern-faced, slim young woman of few words, with a quiet demeanor and perpetual bags under her eyes. She was quite a good player and a nice person, but she was also an Aries, so the rest of the quartet had to look out. Jo spoke gently.

"Lisa, dear, um, what do you have in bar seven?"

"A D-flat whole note," said Lisa, and briefly demonstrated this on her violin. "I'm hovering over all of you, who happen to be even MORE out of tune than usual. Why is that, anyway?"

"We're not out of tune, you are!" Jo replied. "The rest of us are playing a D-chord, and there's no seventh, just your wonky thing up there in the stratosphere."

A quick conference followed at Lisa's stand. This particular note, like most of Lisa's, was hovering above the staff with an annoyingly indeterminate number of lines under it. It could have been a C. Or perhaps it was an F. Jo scratched her head of cropped, wavy brown hair, and blew out a breath so hard it made her lips flap. They had to present this piece on Monday, and Aidan Trask, a perpetually disorganized composition major (who also happened to be their second violinist), had just handed them the parts today.

Lisa, Jo, and Jim Norris, the cellist, were all in their final year and final term at the University of Surrey. Unsurprisingly, they were all coming apart at the seams. Jo stared at Lisa's part again and growled in frustration. She didn't know which was worse – Aidan's procrastination or his terrible handwriting.

"Aidan, this is chicken-scratch!" she snapped. "Did you load up and write this?"

Aidan looked scandalized. He was a slender redhead with fringe that constantly flopped into his light green eyes.

"I did not. I just got behind, is all! My writing always gets messy when I'm behind schedule. Sorry," he said, and then reached for his water bottle, which was full of apple juice today. Or perhaps it was bourbon. With Aidan, you never could tell.

Jim settled his cello comfortably against his leg and snorted with laughter. A healthy-looking young man with pale skin, red cheeks, and short, dark hair, he had even darker eyes that lit up when he laughed, which was often.

"Yes, of course, Aidan, you were 'behind schedule,'" Jim said, making quotes with his fingers. "So who is he?"

Aidan turned bright red and stared at his shoes. When he looked back up, everyone was still staring at him, waiting for an answer, much to his chagrin and annoyance.

"His name is Fred," he said finally.

"Fred?" Jim said. "Nice name, Fred. And what does he do … besides you?"

Aidan's mouth fell open. Lisa let out an almost-laugh.

Jo ignored all three of them and looked out over the shimmering green expanse of lawn, recently planted with something (crocuses, probably). It was a lovely spring day, a little misty and a little cold, but about to be gorgeous, she could tell.

They'd gotten a perfect spot to rehearse in the Kew Gardens, courtesy of a friend of a friend: the Temple of Bellona. It was Friday, and most of them had skived off classes for the day so they could prepare, in this lovely little space, for a concert tomorrow night. They had a small room behind them, full of plaques that Jo didn't pay much attention to, with enough room to store their cases. Above them was a small Doric façade supported by columns, where they had enough room to set up their stands and spend the day alternately playing and boring each other stupid with facts as prep for their end-of-year exams.

"Stupid" being the operative word.

Jim started laughing again, as it seemed Aidan hadn't answered his question. Everybody glared at him, including Jo, rudely shaken out of her brief good mood, but Jim waved off all their angry faces, not even attempting to control himself anymore. It had, after all, been a very long week in a series of very long weeks.

Jo snapped back to reality. They had a job to do. "Well, let's move on, shall we? Jim, stop laughing. Lisa, make the thing a C and let's try it again."

Lisa snorted. "Who died and made you the quartet queen?"

"Would you please just do it?"

"Fine, fine!" Lisa took her pencil and scribbled in some directions for herself.

Jo checked her watch. "Let's get this over with quickly, shall we? It's nearly eleven, we've only got this place 'till five, and I'm starving. I didn't have any breakfast. Don't think Jim has, either."

Jim turned quite pink at this. It pleased, but hardly surprised him, to discover Jo kept tabs.

"Oooh, do the ickle violie and cellie need their num-num?" Aidan crowed, mostly to get back at Jim for nosing around his personal life. "If you want cereal, don't bother getting a bowl," he said, snapping back into his normal voice. "Perhaps you two can just eat out of each other's mouths!"

Jo and Jim were only friends. Jo glared at Aidan. That comment was so stupid it wasn't even worth a snide remark. But Jim, at this implication, positively exploded, in a voice Jo was sure would carry …

"You skinny little pansy punk, I'd like to see how well you play with my bow shoved up your nostril!"

He waved his cello bow threateningly. Aidan blew a raspberry at him.

"Aidan, you naughty boy, stop it!" Jo snapped, her hazel eyes twinkling, and turned her mock wrath on Jim. "Jim, stop scaring Aidan, that's child abuse!"

Aidan was a year behind everyone else, so he'd been named the official "baby" of the quartet. Sometimes, Jo thought, he acted the part too well for his own good.

"Now come on," she finished, turning serious, "We're wasting time!"

And they truly were. The boys seemed to realize this and looked at Jo, settling under her calm gaze. Jo had a most peculiar habit of being sane, intelligent, and reasonably mature about things. Of course, this went completely against all the viola jokes out there, but the U's Wooden Box Quartet was hardly a typical group.

"I'm with Jo," Lisa said. "Right, if this piece of rubbish isn't spot-on in the next hour…"

"Oi, look, I said I was sorry!" said Aidan. "No need to get nasty!"

Lisa ignored him and barreled on. "We might as well not play it for Riebald's class on Monday and save ourselves the humiliation! Let this prat take a bloody zero, and serve him right for lollygagging!"

"You were all so thrilled when I told you I'd be arranging this!" Aidan yelled shrilly, looking at Jim and Jo and hoping for a bit of compassion. Neither of them looked very sympathetic. "Said it was your favorite bit of jazz, you did! And here it is, so stop insulting my work!"

"Oh, bravo!" said Lisa. "It's only six effing fortnights behind schedule, with parts full of mistakes! I suppose you deserve a bleedin' medal!"

"That's enough, Lisa," Jo said firmly, just loudly enough to catch the violinist's attention and stop her tirade. "Look, Aidan's a dolt."

"And a poof," Jim added loudly.

Jo rolled her eyes. "Yes, but he's OUR dolt, and OUR poof, and we love him, and shouting won't fix anything. We'll settle notes as we come to them. After all, the arranger is present, so he'll be able to correct things on the fly, won't you, Aidan?" Jo finished crisply.

She stared at Aidan hard. Aidan looked back at her, a little fearful after Jim and Lisa's shouting. He brushed his long red hair out of his eyes and nodded.

Lisa pursed her lips and looked at Jo for a long moment, but finally she nodded as well. Jo put her viola on her shoulder and got into playing position. And Jim wasn't laughing anymore. He was all business now, his thick fingers set on the bow and left hand at the ready on the fingerboard, looking at Lisa for the cue. And Aidan, although shaking somewhat, put his violin on his shoulder. He briefly scratched his narrow, freckly nose, and put bow to string for another attempt.

"Right, everyone, let's take it from the top," Lisa said finally.

She gave a cue and they began. This time they made it all the way through, although with the obvious flaws with the parts, it was hard to finish. By the time they'd run it, the atmosphere in the Temple of Bellona had gone so frosty that they broke for breakfast immediately, deciding to tackle it again afterwards.

Aidan had eaten at home. He kept his head down and spoke to no one as he blazed through the parts, correcting mistake after mistake. Lisa had a breakfast bar on the train, so she went off to the Victoria Gate with Jim to use the ladies' while he grabbed something for himself and Jo (he could be a real gentleman like that). And Jo, in a rather life-altering move, decided to take a walk.

* * *

Interest piqued? Would you like some more? 


	2. Can I Keep Him?

This is for cyle, who was refreshed, Janie Lupin, who was pleased, and Jill, who now cannot give me the dreaded raspberry. Ha! :D Thanks, everybody!

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**Chapter Two: Can I Keep Him?**

Harry's class visited the Secluded Garden, full of giant trees, creeping vines, and beautiful flowers. No one had needed to remind each other to be quiet in there, the hush was so complete. After that, they wandered by the Winter Garden, which was not quite in bloom, it being spring, and then they went to the Woodland Garden, which looked like an alpine forest. Bushes cuddled up against majestic oaks and flowers of every color were blooming all over the place. The garden was awash in graceful white irises, fat little pink buds, and small clusters of purple lavender that ran along the ground.

That was when it happened. One minute Harry was walking next to a giggling clump of girls, and the next, he found himself quite alone. He reckoned he'd probably stared at the hellebores for too long, but it wasn't as though he hadn't eyes or ears. Where had everyone gone? Neither his classmates nor his teacher were in sight. A tad puzzled, but hardly frightened (he was used to being by himself), Harry wandered off out of the garden and off down what looked like a reasonable path, looking for his class.

Of course, after a long while spent wandering down cobblestone paths without seeing a single familiar person, he realized that being alone was becoming less peaceful and more frightening with each passing minute. Harry walked past a giant glass house in disrepair, lots of greenery, and a small building with tall columns before he finally conceded that he must have gone the wrong way. Stopping, he saw a building in the distance made of brick with a huge tower. Of course, this did him no good.

"Stupid gardens," he muttered to himself. "Some day this is turning into!"

Discouraged, annoyed, hungry (for he'd had no breakfast), and if he was honest with himself, very scared, Harry sat down on a large garden rock, a bit off the path. He put his fists on his pointed chin and stared at the ground under his scuffed trainers, trying to ignore his runny nose and the blurring grey cobblestones.

He sniffed and kept looking down. Perhaps if he just sat here, someone would come along and help him find his class. Of course that was about as likely to happen as his favorite daydream. The plot varied with his mood, but it always seemed to involve a fairy godmother, a flying horse, and an exciting escape from the Dursleys. Thoroughly depressed at these odds, Harry let a tear escape.

"Stop it," he mumbled again, angrily wiping his eyes. "If someone finds you crying like a baby, you'll never hear the end of it."

But no matter how much Harry told himself these things, no matter how much he tried to hold his face in check, the tears wouldn't stop. The gardens were big, and he was small, and he was never going to find his way out of here. He buried his face in his arms and tried not to make any noise, but he couldn't stop himself shaking.

A shadow fell over him then, and for a moment he thought the sky had gone cloudy, but it was not the sky. There, beyond his trainers, was a pair of bright orange clogs and two brown trouser legs. He blinked at them, not sure what he was seeing. And then a friendly alto voice said, from high above him…

"Hello, what are you doing here all by yourself? What's your name?"

Harry looked up at a young woman with wide hazel eyes, a strong nose, and short, wavy brown hair, who was looking down at him in concern. She was striking, not the classic sort of pretty, Harry thought. He liked her immediately, although he wasn't sure why.

"I'm lost," he said.

* * *

Jo, wandering past the Campanile, had happened upon a small boy sitting on a rock. He was now desperately trying to dry his wet cheeks with his palms and staring up at her as though she were a museum exhibit. But she couldn't help staring right back.

The boy was very short and very skinny, and his clothes looked like they were straight out of a charity bin. He wore an ancient red and black striped shirt about six sizes too big for him (the neck hole was so large she could see his collar bone), and old, patched, jeans so enormous that they were cuffed several times at the ankles. His little trainers were an odd shade of grey. A ratty jumper was knotted around his slim waist.

And his face! He would be a real heartbreaker someday, this one. He had high cheekbones set under pale skin, a straight little nose (slightly red at the end), flashing emerald-green eyes behind round glasses, messy black hair that flopped everywhere, and some kind of scar on his forehead which was nearly hidden under his fringe. Even with his woebegone appearance (and an apparent case of the sniffles), he was adorable.

Jo crouched down to have a better look.

"Well hullo, Lost," she said. "I'm Jo."

That got a little smile out of him. The boy sniffed once and opened his mouth to speak, not seeming to care that he was talking to a complete stranger. He just looked markedly happier for company.

Then he looked confused. "Hang on," he said, "Why is your name Joe? Joe's a man's name, and you're a woman!"

Jo laughed. "My name's actually Josephine. My friends make it shorter. They call me 'Jo.'"

"Oh," he said. He seemed to be thinking something through. "Are you my friend?" he asked suddenly.

Jo was a bit taken aback at the question, but she nodded indulgently.

"Good," he said, looking a bit proud of himself. "Because if you're my friend, well … my name's Harry, but if you like, you can call me 'Ha.'"

"You know what?" Jo said, laughing a little, "I think I'd just as soon call you Harry, because Harry is very fine name. We have a prince called Harry, did you know that?"

Harry shook his head, confused again, blushing and shy. His cheeks had gone all red. "But … but I'm not a prince."

"Well, you can be my prince, how about that?" Jo asked. "Come on, up you get!"

She took Harry's hands and helped him off the rock. He stood next to her on the cobblestones. Jo was petite, but Harry still only came up her hip.

"So, Harry, back to my original question … what are you doing out here alone?"

"I came to Kew with my class," Harry said. "We went into the Woodsy Garden, and then I looked and everyone had gone, so I went looking for them and I got lost."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Jo said. "How long have you been by yourself?"

"I don't know, an hour?" Harry guessed. He didn't seem terribly fazed by this.

Jo was shocked. "You've been on your own for a whole hour, and you've heard no one calling for you?"

"Well, the class is big," Harry explained. "Mrs. Bloom can't keep her eyes on everybody. She probably doesn't even know I'm gone."

Again, Harry didn't look too sad. Harry didn't look too anything, actually. It sent a chill up Jo's spine.

Jo had to rehearse with her quartet. She had to study tonight. She had to practice. She had to eat. There were so many things she had to do. But this boy, this sweet, gentle, little boy, was clearly in need of some help. He was a good lad, she could tell. It was there in his bright eyes, in his innocent smile. And Jo made a decision.

"Harry," she asked, "Have you had any breakfast?"

She was sad, and yet not surprised, when he shook his head no.

"Well, would you like to come and have breakfast with me and my friends?"

"Yes, please!" said Harry.

"All right, then!"

So, Jo took his hand and led him off back to the Temple of Bellona. Lisa was back from the lav, muttering and swearing her way through a trying run-through of a devilishly tricky Paganini caprice. Aidan was finishing his part-check. And Jim had just come back from the café with two cups of coffee, an apple juice (he'd always been attracted to those apple juices in the glass apple bottles) and a bag with some buns in it.

The rest of the quartet waved at Jo, who waved back. Then they saw that Jo was holding Harry's hand. Harry, on seeing them, gasped slightly and ducked behind Jo's legs, quick as a shot.

"Oh, my," Lisa said.

Aidan raised his eyebrows. "Who's this, now?"

"Cradle robber," Jim cracked. "Honestly Jo, d'you have a complex or something?"

"Shut up, Jim," she said sweetly. "Everyone, this is Harry. He was separated from his class, and he got very lost, so I invited him to breakfast. Harry, these are my school mates, Jim, Lisa, and Aidan. We're all at University, and we play music together!"

"Music?" Harry asked, peeping out from behind her.

"Mm hm. We're a string quartet! D'you know what that is?"

"I think so," said Harry. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. He stood at Jo's side. "It's four people who play instruments with strings. We learned a little about music in school."

He spotted Jim's cello, sitting on its side next to his chair.

"That's a cello!" he said excitedly, pointing. "I've seen pictures of those. Is that all wood?"

"Yes, it is," Jim said.

"I like it!" Harry declared.

Jim looked ridiculously pleased at this pronouncement. Harry, for his part, seemed to be feeling a bit more comfortable. He smiled at the other three people. Jim smiled back. Aidan was grinning like an idiot and elbowing Lisa. The corners of her lips had turned up just a hair.

And then something rumbled loudly. Harry rubbed his belly and stared pointedly at the lawn with reddening cheeks.

"Here, darling, sit down. Have some food," Jo said, leading him over to her chair and handing him a big bun from the sack Jim had brought.

Harry seemed almost absurdly grateful. He said "thank you" several times before hopping up to reach the seat of the chair, and when he sat his legs swung far above the floor. Then he started to eat, savoring every bite. Jo uncapped the apple juice and gave it to him, and Jim didn't object.

Jim and Jo divvied up the rest of the bag. He had started his coffee and she was alternating sips of coffee with bites of bun when she saw Lisa was standing off a ways, beckoning both of them over with a finger. Aidan was by her side. Harry was absorbed in eating his breakfast, so they walked over. Lisa crossed her arms.

"I must say, Jo, I never saw this coming," she said, a smile now tugging firmly at her lip.

"Can I keep him? Please?" Jo asked, playing along. "He's so cute, and he's no trouble!"

Lisa was about to reply to this, when Aidan suddenly sneezed. The others just murmured "Bless you," but Jo held her bun in her mouth, freeing up her left hand, and dug around in her trouser pocket.

"Here, dear," she mumbled thickly, and handed Aidan a travel-sized packet of tissues.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Scratch that," she said. "I saw this coming a mile off."

Aidan blew his nose, sounding remarkably like an elephant. And Lisa sighed. Her smile went away as she turned to Jo.

"Jo, look, I hate to sound coldhearted, but we don't have time to reunite some small child with his class. You said it yourself – we have to rehearse."

Jo blinked at her, looking like a chipmunk with her cheeks full of pastry. She took a moment to chew and swallow, buying herself some time to build courage. The walk back with Harry had given her an idea. She just had a feeling it would be a hard sell.

"Yes, I know we have to rehearse," she began carefully. "But, well, I wasn't thinking of reuniting him with his class immediately. I thought … I thought maybe he could stay with us for the day."

The uproar was virulent, if not entirely unexpected. But a small person with big ears was nearby, so the opposition came in hisses and whispers.

"Have you lost your mind? How are we supposed to watch him and the music? Or is one of us to sprout an extra pair of eyes?" Lisa said.

"He's bright," Jim added. "We'll have to mind our language and not corrupt him." He looked around quickly at the other three. "Yeah, he hasn't a chance in hell."

"And if he drinks my apple juice … I don't want to think about it," Aidan finished.

"Besides," Lisa said, her face and voice softening, "The boy's supposed to be getting a tour of the gardens, not hanging about with us."

Lisa was right, but Jo rebutted beautifully.

"I think he can have both. No, really, look, it'll be fun!" she added, off Jim's scoffing noise. "If we just use our time wisely, Harry can have a day at Kew, we can rehearse, and everybody can be happy."

It took a little more coaxing, and by the end of deliberations Lisa was kneading her eyes with her palms, but finally, they all agreed. Just in the nick of time, too. They broke ranks and looked at Harry, who was finishing his apple juice and had fortunately missed the whole thing.

Jo went over to him with a smile. "Harry, I know it's probably impossible to find your class now, but do you know when they leave for the day?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Erm, five o'clock, at the main gate. Do you know where the main gate is?"

"We'll find it," Jo said. "But the thing is, we're all happy to have you stay with us for the day, if you want to. Would you like that?"

Much to her pleasure, Harry nodded happily.

"Oh, good! Well, listen, we're here to rehearse, so we have to practice together for two whole hours, until one o'clock. Jim will fetch us lunch…"

"Shall I?" Jim asked, amused. Aidan elbowed him in gut.

"We can all tour the gardens together, so you can have a good walk, and we'll come back and rehearse again. Then at 4:30 we'll take you to the front, and you can get on the train with your class. What do you think?"

Harry was speechless for a moment. But then he seemed to understand, grinning like Christmas had come early. Finally locating his vocal chords he burst out, "Brilliant!"

Aidan laughed. "Oh, I like this one!" he said.

* * *

More? 


	3. Adventures in Babysitting

Reviewers:

**Freja!** Glad you like it so far. As to the fanfiction being "about the books," or "faithful to the books," there is a surprising amount of leeway. (Just look at the slash phenomenon.) You play music? Great! What's your instrument? As for the viola jokes, they seem to be a phenomenon in their own right. You can find lots of them here: http: www. petelevin. com / violajokes . htm. There are other sites, too. Just google "viola jokes."

A teaser. _What's the difference between a violist and a seamstress? The seamstress tucks up the frills, and the violist … _(if you don't get it, e-mail me.) You can also find such classics as, "_What do you call two violists playing in unison? Counterpoint_." Ouch! LOL

Speaking as a part-time violist, I must say that the viola is an incredibly beautiful instrument, it's an honor to play it, and the best "revenge" for these viola jokes, if you're into that sort of thing, is to play well.

**Wicked**, I'm so glad you like! Here's more! Thanks for reviewing!

**Chib!** You reviewed my other story, right? Thanks for checking this one out, too. I appreciate it.

**Shiba!** Thankees! I'm glad you're enjoying this. Many thanks for your support. :)

On with the show! :D (Sorry this took so long, everyone.)

* * *

**Chapter Three: Adventures in Babysitting**

Harry privately decided that wandering away from his class had been the best decision he'd ever made. It was fascinating watching the string quartet rehearse. He felt privileged to be so close to the action, while other people could only hear the music from across the lawn. Small crowds would gather to stare and point, and then walk away again.

He stared around at the instruments while the quartet played. He liked the big, deep tones of the cello. And the violins sounded sweet, if a little squeaky. But the instrument he liked best was the viola. Its notes sat solidly in the middle of everything, and there was just something about the way Jo played it that made him feel warm and cozy inside. And when the music got really good, he would dance, hopping from one foot to the other across the stone floor of the Temple, flailing his arms like a small bird, trying to stay upright and keep in rhythm.

Jo explained to him that they were going to run through all the music they had to play first, and then see what they had to fix. So Harry sat through some sad music by a man called Chai-Cough-Ski, a small, fast piece by an "our time" person whose name he didn't catch, a medium-speed "minute" dance by some man named Bay-Toe-Van, and the last part of a quartet by some mysterious bloke named Hide-In. The quartet had the name of some bird, and Jo told him the title at least twice, but he couldn't remember it. The music sounded like a bird, though. Lisa was playing her squeaky, sweet violin blindingly fast.

Harry danced around in time to the music, lost in his own little world, clapping his hands. When the quartet took a short break, he clambered into Jo's lap and she showed him what her music looked like. Harry scratched his head and tried to make sense of all the funny lines running every which-way, finally turning a page upside-down to see if that helped. Jo laughed.

The rehearsal finished up and the rest of the quartet handed money to Jim (Harry watched it change hands with interest), who, as promised, went off and brought back lunch for everyone. Jim handed food to Jo, and she in turn handed Harry a capped cup of milk, a tuna fish sandwich, and a Mars bar for dessert. Harry was just about to accept it, when he realized something awful. How foolish he'd been!

"Jo…" He licked his lips and felt his cheeks get hot. "Jo, I … I can't take this," he said softly.

"Why ever not?" she asked.

"Because," he said, still feeling very embarrassed, "I haven't any money to pay you."

Jo looked at Harry, and then looked round. Her friends were all occupied eating and talking to each other, getting ready to leave and walk around the gardens with their food. She leaned into Harry and smiled.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"Even if you did have money to pay me, I wouldn't let you. I'm your friend, right? Well, friends share with friends, and money isn't an issue." She ruffled his hair gently. "Drink your milk, love. We'll be leaving in a minute, and you can eat your sandwich along the way."

Harry, now feeling much better, did as he was told.

* * *

The quartet locked up their stuff inside the Temple and took their walking lunch. Harry trotted along beside them, delicately eating his sandwich and Mars bar and staring round at everything. Jim and Jo fell into step beside each other, talking animatedly and letting Harry run ahead slightly to things that caught his eye. Neither let him out of their sight. 

Aidan and Lisa were up ahead with Harry, who was peering intently at some bushes, when Jo felt something warm clasp around her left hand. She looked down for a moment, pleased, and yet not surprised, so see that Jim had taken it in his right.

And Harry looked back at them with a sudden smile. Jim didn't appear to see this, but Jo did. She returned it, and he ran off again.

They all walked past the decrepit, decaying Palm House (under renovation), and into the Rose Garden, where Harry dashed about, looking at plants and frequently finding interesting things on the ground – mostly dead petals. He kept filling his pockets with them, for some reason. No one did anything to stop this, and Aidan seemed to get a kick out of chasing Harry around and scooping him up to show him huge blooms that were out of his range of vision.

This often got a long, low, "Wow!" in response, and the first time Aidan caught a happily shrieking Harry and picked him up to show off some enormous roses, Lisa laughed. It was a startling, pleasant sound that Jo had never heard from the normally stone-faced violinist. Really, she thought, she'd never seen her group behave so strangely. It was a bit like they'd all adopted Harry for the day. Or perhaps Harry had adopted them.

If he had, he didn't seem to realize it. His mind was mostly on the plants and the music he'd heard them play (he seemed particularly excited about the last movement of the Lark, even if he couldn't remember the title). Jim had finally broken his hold on Jo's hand. The other three players had wandered ahead.

Jo was hanging back with Harry, when their talk turned to family. Jo told Harry that her parents lived in London, and then asked where Harry's parents lived.

"They don't live at all," Harry said abruptly. "I live with my aunt and uncle."

"Oh my, I'm sorry. Well, I'm sure your aunt and uncle love you very much."

"Not really," Harry said, as though he were talking about a stranger's life, and not his own. "My uncle isn't very nice, and he's always horrible about my mum and dad. He says they're 'six feet under and good riddance' when anyone asks about them."

Jo gasped.

"Oh, but I don't believe him," Harry responded, seeing her stricken face. "I don't think they're six feet under and good riddance, I think they're with Stripes." He smiled a little.

"S-Stripes?"

"He was my cousin's kitten. He got hit by a car. Aunt Petunia said Stripes was a good kitty, so he got to go to heaven. I think my parents must be in heaven, too."

It seemed that was all Harry wanted to say, and Jo didn't press him any more. Instead, she surreptitiously plucked a rose bloom off a bush and handed it to him to distract him. Harry took it and quickly began to amuse himself with the flower, trying to balance it on his head while hopping on one foot. It fell off him almost immediately. He laughed, put it back on, and started hopping again, completely forgetting about the conversation.

They walked away from the Rose Garden and down the Cherry Walk, where everyone delighted to see the cherry trees in bloom, raining light pink petals down on them all. Harry, predictably, crouched at intervals and stuffed fallen petals into his pockets. Lisa, mostly in an effort to get him to stop picking things up off the ground (which she finally realized was quite unsanitary), distracted him for a bit by showing him the Japanese names of some of the trees. Harry tried to repeat the Japanese words and mangled them, to everyone else's amusement.

They wended their way through the Cherry Walk, past another garden, and into the Temperate House, which was full of light and interesting plants. The quartet, all having been here as children, kept commenting on how small the place seemed now. Harry had the opposite opinion, but he was quite satisfied with his situation, since there was no shortage of people willing to pick him up and show him things.

So he began to ask for it, stopping at exhibits and tugging randomly on the trouser legs behind him, inquiring politely if he could please "be taller." Lisa and Jo both did this a few times, and Jim hefted him quite a bit as well. But oddly enough, it was goofy, giggly, hair-in-his-eyes Aidan that seemed to be Harry's most frequent lift. He picked Harry up so much, and pointed out so many things, that Jo began to wonder when his arms would fail.

And then Aidan did something which surprised everyone. While Jim was explaining to Harry how the Proteas had gotten here all the way from Africa, Aidan stopped by a rubbish bin and dropped his still nearly-full bottle of "apple juice" into it. Lisa's mouth dropped open.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Isn't that your secret sauce?"

"Well, there's no point carrying it around all day. I haven't had a drop since this morning, and anyway, it seems like all I do is put it down and pick Harry up!" Aidan said. He didn't seem to be the least bit sorry about this.

Harry began to get fidgety after a bit, so they left the glass house and kept wandering until they reached a lovely, ornamental Japanese gate and rock garden. The view was gorgeous.

"This is so … inspiring!" Aidan said. "It's so absolutely fabulous, and yet so simple!"

"Oh Lord, I think feel a minimalist composition heading our way! Run for your lives!" Jim said.

Jo and Lisa laughed, Aidan looked cross, and Harry chirped, "What's minimism?"

"Minimalism," Jo said, "Is the greatest thing. It means you do very little, for a very long time!"

"Oh," said Harry, not really understanding.

"Don't worry, love," Jo said, seeing his confusion. "If you go into music, they force you to learn all about it."

And the troupe began the long walk back. Jim took one of Harry's hands, Jo took the other, and Aidan and Lisa fell into step on either side. It was the oddest, happiest little parade you could imagine.

Oh, yes, Jo thought. Harry had definitely adopted them.

* * *

After a bigger lunch than he was used to and wandering around looking at so many plants, Harry felt very sleepy. Feeling sleepy in the afternoon was not a foreign feeling. Nor was stumbling, he tended to do that when he was very tired. But he'd never had someone pick him up like that. 

He tripped, he remembered that much, but someone had scooped him up and settled him on something warm and solid that moved. A hip, he realized. He hardly had time to think about this before something heavy was draped over his back and he fell asleep.

* * *

More? 


	4. Forever Changed

**REVIEWERS!**

**Shiba!** Thanks again for your reviews. Sorry this update didn't come so fast.

**thehappydementor**: Thank you SO SO MUCH for calling that to my attention. I am not English. It's the kind of thing I desperately need to be told. What word would you suggest in place of "spunk?" Aidan was attempting to say that Harry is very lively. If you give me a better word to put in, I'll fix it in the final update.

**Destiny13**: Many thanks for your support, and for noticing that Harry occasionally acts a bit older than six. He's actually meant to. The way I figure it, his home life is rough, and acting a bit more mature, at least for now, is one of his survival techniques.

**PlatoDan**: Thanks for weighing in. Alas, this is almost the last chapter, and I don't feel comfortable making this an AU. Sorry, dude! But fear not, it's a happy ending.

**wolfawaken** and **Grimdownsizer**: THANK YOU!!! :D

**Gia**: Whoa! You have the power to let other people hear about this? Please do, if you can. I'd appreciate it. Thanks for reviewing! :D

**Azula**: Your spelling is terrible, but I luv ya anyway. LOL I think you will be very pleased with the epilogue. Thanks for reviewing!

**Freja**: Thanks for the input! I appreciate it. Glad you're enjoying the story. Have you looked up any viola jokes yet? Pianist, eh? Sweet!

**Spezlee**: That's a terrific connection. If only I had spelled Lisa's surname differently! Darn it. Ah, well. Can't have it all, I suppose. Thanks for your review!

And now …here's more. :)

* * *

**Chapter Four: Forever Changed**

Jo didn't even know what made her do it. She and Jim each had Harry by the hand, and they were all on their way back to the Temple for more rehearsal. Harry started yawning after they passed the Pavilion Restaurant, by the time they reached the Berberis Dell, an explosion of yellow on every bush, he was stumbling. He looked happy and full, and quite tired.

"All right there, love?" she asked.

Harry mumbled something incoherent and really tripped, like he would keep going and hit the pavement.

"Oh!" Jo said. She caught him before he fell and hefted him up onto her hip before Jim could even react.

Harry knocked his face into her striped shirt, threw his arms around her neck in an inborn, natural gesture, mumbled something else, and went quiet. Lisa looked at Jo with concern. And then without a word, she took off her jean jacket and covered Harry with it. With a solemn nod, like everything was now in its proper place, she moved back to Jo's right and fell into step again. The rest of the walk back to the Temple was silent.

Jim and Aidan cleared a spot on the couch where they'd been storing a few of their cases and left Harry there to sleep under Lisa's coat. He didn't wake up until almost three, but when he woke up, he seemed to be all right. He watched, apparently with interest, as they tweaked bowings and negotiated fingerings, tried different tempos and did slow tuning work.

At half past four, they realized their time was up, and that somehow, amazingly, they'd actually gotten their pieces to where they should be. They also realized that it was nearly time to say goodbye to Harry.

It was with a very heavy heart that Jo wiped down her instrument and packed it up. She shared a brief look with Jim, who gave her a look that went deeper than just sympathy. Even Lisa and Aidan looked glum. Nobody was looking forward to five o'clock.

They all slung their cases on their backs, except Jim, who'd installed wheels on his so he could roll it along. Jo helped Harry put on his jumper, but in the end ripped it off him in disgust and threw it in the nearest bin – it was so full of holes that it was useless. Lisa let Harry wear her jean jacket, instead. It fell to his knees, which caused a few smiles. Prim as usual, Lisa knelt in front of Harry and did up the buttons, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Jo took him by the hand and they made their way back to the main entrance, hurrying along so as not to make Harry late. Their pace was such that Harry had to trot in order to keep up, but they made it to the main gate just in time.

The place was crowded. Trams were arriving to take away the droves of visitors to Kew. The quartet looked a bit bewildered by all the people, and Harry was scanning around. Finally he tugged gently on Jo's trouser leg, and pointed. His class was over on the right, queuing up.

Harry looked at his class, and then back at Jo, and at his class, and then back at Jo again. Jo squatted down next to him. Harry very solemnly took off Lisa's coat and handed it to her, an implacable sadness in his green eyes.

"I don't want to go back, Jo."

"I know, dear," Jo said.

Harry had to queue up before the teacher saw him. She wanted to do something for him, though, before he had to leave.

She looked up at Jim and said, "Give him a card, would you? That way he can stay in touch," she said.

The cellist snapped to life, mumbling, "Right, right." He dug around in his pockets and came up with several small white cards. Peeling one away from its mates, he handed it to Harry. Harry read it.

"The Wooden Box Quartet," it said. "Lisa Prewitt, Violin. Aidan Trask, Violin. Josephine Weitzel, Viola. James Morris, Cello." It listed all of their telephone numbers, and said at the bottom, "Exquisite music for any elegant engagement. Price on request."

Harry looked up at all of them happily.

"If you ever want to call us, just to say hello, you do that, all right? And don't hesitate," Jo said. "I want to hear from you."

"I won't," Harry said quietly. "Hesitate, I mean. I'll call if my uncle lets me, but well…"

His dejected tone told her right away that this would probably be goodbye forever. Jo brushed aside her sudden, inexplicable moment of panic, smiled, and drew him in for a hug. "Goodbye, love. You take care of yourself, now, all right?"

He nodded solemnly. Jim picked him up, gave him a hug too, and simply handed him off to Aidan, who hugged him as well. Lisa wiped under one eye very fast and drew him into a final embrace. She swiped one calloused finger across the tip Harry's nose.

"You do what Jo says, all right? Be good."

Harry nodded.

"Then away with you, lad," she said softly, and gently shooed him off to join his class.

The quartet watched as Harry ran to the back of the line and joined his class boarding the tram that would take them to the nearest station. He kept looking back as the line moved forward.

Just as Harry boarded, they heard Mrs. Bloom say, "There you are, Potter! I called your name twice just now, why didn't you answer?"

And the tram pulled away. Jo watched it go, quite sad. Jim threw an arm around her. Aidan stared at the ground, his red hair hanging in his eyes. Lisa's bottom lip was quivering violently. And as soon as Harry was out of sight, twin tears coursed down her cheeks and plopped onto her pink blouse.

Aidan turned to her and saw she was crying. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I miss him," Lisa said simply.

* * *

After the concerts and the hustle and bustle of final exams and recitals, Jo was sprawled on her bed in the dormitory, relaxing and staring up at the ceiling. It was four o'clock and Jim would be along later, as they were going to dinner with Aidan and Fred. She had a feeling it would be a very interesting evening.

The phone jolted her out of her reverie. She crossed the room and picked it up. "Hello?" she said.

"Hello," said an unfamiliar woman's voice from the other end. "I'm looking for…" There was the scuffling of paper. "Josephine Weitzel?"

"Speaking," said Jo. "Who's calling, please?"

"My name is Emma Bloom. I teach primary school, first year, and one of my students turned in the strangest report to me yesterday about this class trip we took to the Kew Gardens. I'm so happy I reached you, Miss Weitzel."

Jo blinked. "I'm sorry, what's this about a student?"

"No, I apologize. I'm talking out of order. He's a small boy named Harry. Harry Potter."

Jo had to sit down. "Yes, I met a small boy named Harry at Kew, Friday last. Is he all right?"

"He's fine, miss. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jo said. "It's just, well, he spent the day with us, you know, and when he left he seemed so abominably sad. He also said he probably wouldn't be able to call … something about his uncle?"

"Ah. Well, I've heard some rumors about his home life," Mrs. Bloom said. "His cousin seems to be a bit of a bully. But please believe me that he's all right, and I will pass on your concern. Anyway, I … I'm sorry. This must sound so ridiculous. You see, I called to verify you were real. Harry is frequently by himself on the schoolyard, and he seems to have developed a habit of daydreaming, and, well, making things up."

"I see," Jo said, suddenly affronted and irritated with this woman for not believing Harry. "Well, I can confirm that I am not a figment of a six-year-old boy's imagination. How did you get this number, anyway?" she finished. It came off a little clipped.

Mrs. Bloom didn't seem to notice. "It was on his art project. I asked the whole class to write draw a picture of something they liked at the Gardens. He made a collage – glued rose petals and cherry blossom petals to some paper, and he drew what looks like a cello, I think, it's hard to tell. And he also glued your business card on there."

"Ah," said Jo. She didn't know what else to say.

"I also asked the students to write three paragraphs about their day at Kew, and cite one thing they learned," Mrs. Bloom continued. "Would you like to hear what Harry wrote?"

Jo was not really in the mood to talk to Mrs. Bloom anymore, considering she'd been the one to lose Harry in the first place and, to cork it all, had just accused the little chap of "making up" a homework assignment. But there was something in the teacher's voice that invited an affirmative, so Jo gave it.

"Of course," she said, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Excellent." Mrs. Bloom cleared her throat, and began to read.

"_My Day at Kew, by Harry Potter. _

_I got very lost at the Kew Gardens, but then I met Jo and Aidan and Lisa and Jim. They were very nice grownups from the University, and I spent the day with them. They are a string quartet. Lisa and Aidan play violin. Jo plays viola. Jim plays cello. They made lots of good music, and I danced, and nobody minded. _

_They took me around. I saw roses, and cherry trees, and all different kinds of flowers in the Temper House." _(Mrs. Bloom laughed a little at this.)_ "I had a Mars bar and a sandwich. We saw a funny garden full of rocks from Japan and Aidan said he was going to do very little for a very long time." _(Jo smiled.)_ "We went back to the music place and they played some more, but as I was so sleepy, I didn't dance again. _

_And when it was time to go, I was very sad. I liked the flowers, but I liked the grownups better. Jo was my favorite. I wonder if she would teach me viola. Its sound is the best! Uncle Vernon will not let me ring anybody, so I cannot ring her to say hello, but I will miss her quite a lot. I will miss them all quite a lot._

_I learned one important thing at Kew. There are good people all around. If you are lucky, you find them. And if you are really lucky, they find you first. _"

There was a very long pause. Jo felt her breath catch in her throat. "Erm," she said, her voice shaking, "That was lovely. And I can assure you that he made none of it up. Would – would you please tell him that we all miss him as much as he misses us?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Bloom. "You know, I feel quite horrible for losing Harry in the first place, Miss Weitzel, in fact, worse for not even noticing I lost him 'till he turned in this report. But thank you for taking care of him. Something tells me he needed it very badly."

A tear got free, and Jo tried valiantly to compose herself. "We were all happy to stay with him, Mrs. Bloom. And thank you for calling."

They said goodbye and hung up, and Jo sat there, staring out the window, lost in thought. She was still sitting there when Jim came by.

* * *

Hang on, everybody. An epilogue should be up in a few days. 


	5. Epilogue: Pretty Bloody Proud

**Reviewers!**

**dave-gerecke**: Thank you!

**Shiba!** Thank you so much for your ongoing support of this story, and your good humor. As a violinist, I have to say that all music is wonderful and all instruments have their own special qualities. I chose the viola for the center of this story because it fits so well with Harry's personality: when it's played well it sounds gorgeous, and it generally doesn't like the spotlight.

**Darak**: read and see. :D Thanks for reviewing.

**wolfawaken!** Thank you for your support!

**moonfyre**: here you go. :D

**Sykoticstalker27**: I'm so glad you liked it.

**Freja!** That's exactly what it's like. I'm so glad you liked the story. Thanks for all your support and reviewing action. Best of luck in all you do. :)

**Wicked!** Harry is definitely a world-changer. Have fun with the epilogue, and thank you for your reviews.

**Note**: _Literature is powerful stuff. It lets you do anything. For instance, it lets an author jump years in sentences, as I have. This last part of "A Magic Beyond" is sliiiiiiightly romantic (H/Hr). However, there's nothing here that will make you vomit, I promise. :D Enjoy!

* * *

_

**Epilogue: Pretty Bloody Proud**

It was the end of yet another concert. The concert hall was warm, in much appreciated contrast to the cold rain outside. Jo had never truly appreciated warm rooms until a few weeks ago. It was a few days after New Years, and she'd had some shopping to do. When she trudged into the flat, sank down in front of a fire her husband had prepared, and actually heard her bones creak, it gave her pause. Was she getting old already?

The wild applause of the audience played was merely a rumble at the edge of her consciousness. She stood while the audience clapped and whistled appreciatively, smiled, and let the volume rise back up to its usual roar. The London Chamber Players was the best quality, steadiest gig she'd ever had. She looked over at the cello section and surreptitiously blew a kiss at the love of her life. He put a hand on his cheek and batted his eyes. She had to bite her tongue.

The one thing about Jim that would never change was his ability to make her laugh, no matter what the situation. There had been their tentative, quiet relationship at Surrey U, the snogging sessions in practice rooms at Conservatory, and then marriage, and then … goodness. Twenty years had flown by. Jo needed glasses now, Jim was getting a paunch, and they were both going gray, but at least they had each other.

The curtain dropped and the orchestra left the stage. Pressing gently past other people and finally reaching her case, Jo wiped down her instrument and put it away. Just as she was loosening her bow, Mark, the security guard, came over to her.

"Jo?" he asked.

"Mark!" she said, cheerfully. "Something need doing?"

Mark laughed. "No, ma'am, I just have a message. You and Jim have some guests waiting for you out in the hall."

"Guests?" she asked, clicking the latch shut on her case. "We're not expecting anyone."

"They said you weren't," Mark said, nodding. "But they seem pleasant, and if you need me, I'll be right there."

Jo put on her coat and blinked at Mark, who was weedy, thin, and had to be about twenty-one, if that. He puffed out his chest and looked quite ridiculous.

"Yes, thank you, Mark. I'll just collect my husband and we'll see to these guests. Jim? All ready?"

"Yes indeed," Jim said, coming over with his cello case. He parked it next to his wife, pulled on his evening coat, scarf and gloves, and pecked her on the cheek.

They each picked up their cases and headed for the side door as Jo explained they had people there to see them. Jim was as surprised at this as Jo had been, and when they stepped out into the lobby a couple stood there waiting for them, arm in arm.

The woman was young, of average height, with frizzy brown hair coiled in an elegant twist. Bright brown eyes blinked behind delicate oval glasses. She wore an unbuttoned thick coat over a lovely blue evening dress.

The man was young too, and strikingly handsome. He was straight and tall, slim and broad-shouldered, wearing a tuxedo and an unbuttoned overcoat. The light bounced off his high cheekbones and reflected in his luminous green eyes. His hair, black as pitch, was cut in a flattering, fashionably messy way, and he wore glasses with very hip rectangular frames.

No. It couldn't be.

Jo had stopped dead, and was staring rudely. A vision was filtering back to her, of a small boy with the same eyes, same hair … the man had no scar, but everything else was too similar to ignore. Jo handed Jim her case, hardly looking at her husband, who was gazing at her curiously. She found her legs and walked over to the man. They locked eyes.

"Harry?" she asked at once.

The man smiled at her. He looked a bit surprised. "Hi, Jo," he said softly, in a pleasant baritone. "Wow, I didn't think you'd remember me. It's been a very, very long time."

"Oh, Harry!" Jo cried, all decorum forgotten, and threw her arms around him.

"Harry?" Jim asked, confused.

Jo turned around, still holding Harry, and narrowed her eyes at her husband. "Harry! The little one! You lugged him around Kew for a whole day when we were at university!"

And suddenly it dawned on Jim, and his eyes got huge. Pretty soon he was putting down instruments and hugging Harry and then firmly shaking his hand, and the woman next to Harry was laughing.

"It's good to see both of you," Harry said. "Not that I'm surprised, of course. I remember you couldn't stop staring at each other the whole day. Couple of lovesick fools, you were!"

"And still are!" Jim said proudly, putting his arm around Jo. "Our twentieth anniversary's coming up. January 26."

"Congratulations," Harry said.

"Thank you. How are you, dear?" Jo asked.

"Doing quite well," Harry said, smiling. "And if I'm grinning like an idiot, it's her fault." He threw a long arm around the woman next to him.

The young woman smiled happily, showing perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth.

"Jo, Jim, I'd like to introduce Hermione Granger. Her parents are dentists, in case you can't tell."

Hermione frowned slightly and raised an eyebrow at him. Jim and Jo both laughed.

Jo smiled and shook Hermione's hand. "It's nice to meet you, dear."

"Likewise," she said kindly, now shaking hands with Jim.

Jim shook his head in disbelief at Harry. "Gah, lad, it's been years!" he said. "I can't believe how tall you are! How old are you now, if you don't mind?"

"Twenty-nine, sir," Harry said.

"Christ!"

"Jim!" said Jo.

"What?" Jim asked.

Jo eyed her husband, who continued to look confused. Harry laughed, and Jo finally smiled too, feeling supremely content. It was so good to see Harry happy and grown, to catch him up in an embrace, to know that he had become the heartbreaker she knew he would.

It was fulfilling in ways that most things could never be.

"So how did you find us?" Jo asked.

"Well, Hermione and I wanted to take in a show, and I saw the names on the program and thought it was a reasonable chance to take," said Harry.

"I'm glad you took it," Jo said warmly.

"Me too," Harry said. "I half expected to see Lisa's name on the program, or Aidan's. Do you hear from either of them?"

This took Jo by surprise. She hadn't expected Harry to remember everybody. "Well," she said, "Lisa plays with the Symphony now, but we do run into her on occasion. She's just gotten a new cat, from what I understand, and she's doing well. And Aidan's not doing music anymore. He runs a café in Manchester."

They stood around and talked for a little while. Apparently Harry had gone to school in Scotland with Hermione (they were in the same year). She was now a doctor working at a hospital in London that Jo had never heard of, and Harry, after two stints in jobs that he hated (one he disagreed with and the other was stupendously boring) was now very happily teaching at the school he used to attend. When Jim, assuming correctly that they were dating, asked incredulously how they were able to see each other often enough, Harry replied simply that distance was not a problem.

Jim scratched his head. And Jo didn't ask how this was possible, or how his scar had disappeared, as though it had never existed at all. She was just so glad to see that he was all right. He was comfortable, happy, safe, and loved … everything she wished for him.

"Well, it's getting late," Harry said finally. "We have a train to catch tomorrow, and I expect you two have things to do as well."

"Oh, my, yes we do!" Jo said, her brain finally clicking back into the present. "We're leaving on tour for France in two days, and we need to pack! Come on, Jim, we'd best go and get some sleep. Let the lovebirds have some space," she said, and winked.

Jim waggled his eyebrows at her. "D'you mean those lovebirds," he said, thumbing at Harry and Hermione, "or these?" he finished, pointing at himself and Jo.

"Oh, you!" she said, gently slapping him away. They walked off, leaving Harry and Hermione to watch and smile. "Goodbye, Harry! Lovely meeting you, Hermione! Come see us when the Players come back to London! We'll have dinner!" Jo shouted to them, as her husband tried to tickle her.

"Yes, let's!" Harry called.

"Goodbye, it was wonderful meeting you!" Hermione called.

They waved until Jo and Jim turned the corner. Harry and Hermione both buttoned their coats and put on their gloves. Harry let Hermione smooth his lapel and straighten his muffler. She looked up into his green eyes and smiled.

"So that was the woman who changed your life?" she asked.

Harry smiled back. "More than you know," he said. "'Course," he continued, feigning carelessness and deliberately not looking at her, "She's not the only one."

Hermione took that as her cue. Rising on tiptoe, she planted a small kiss on Harry's cheek, and heard him take in a quick breath. She cursed mentally at having been too forward. They'd only been going out for a month and Harry, as far as she could tell, was terrible at handling public displays of affection.

He said nothing. But he didn't move, either. He just looked at her and got his face right in hers, his green eyes glimmering with mischief, a little smile playing about his mouth.

"Healer Granger, that was very sneaky of you," he chided in an undertone.

And then, quick as a dart, he shot in for the kill and kissed her square on the lips. Pulling away a moment later, he saw that Hermione looked a little dizzy, but absurdly pleased.

"Ha … Ha …" she was trying to say his name, blinking furiously and failing.

It made him laugh. After so many years of thinking he was a flop with girls, seeing that he could have an effect like that on someone so smart was a bit mind-blowing. Finally, though, she snapped out of it, shaking her head and giving him a small grin.

"Harry," she managed. Then she narrowed her eyes at him like he was a naughty little boy. "You never showed her your card! She would have just died!"

Harry snorted. "Hermione, A, she wouldn't have understood it, and B, if she got the gist, she'd be full of questions we wouldn't be able to answer. You know full well I couldn't have shown it to her."

Harry had just recently gotten his own Chocolate Frog Card, and while Hermione was tremendously excited about it, Harry didn't know if he was more puzzled or amused by the whole thing. He didn't see what all the fuss was about, really. Yes, he'd defeated Voldemort at seventeen, saved the world, blah blah blah. But in his eyes, he was doing his life's work right now, at Hogwarts. It would probably seem odd to others that after such a flashy adolescence and a dramatic few years as an Auror he would find such satisfaction in such a "humble" profession, but he was finally doing something he could truly be proud of … something he loved.

"Come on, I want to read it again," Hermione said, digging into Harry's pocket for his card.

Harry laughed and shook his head. Apparently Hermione's high over this ludicrous card thing hadn't worn off yet. He let her take it out, getting a glimpse of his own face on the front, smilingly shyly, before Hermione turned it over. They were alone in the lobby, but Hermione still read it aloud quietly.

"_Professor Harry Potter_," she read, and gazed up at Harry with a definitely sexy look in her eyes. "Ooh, I like that."

Harry laughed. "Get on with it!"

"Very well," she said. "_Professor Harry Potter is currently the Defense against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Widely regarded as the most powerful light wizard England has seen since Albus Dumbledore, Mr. Potter, at seventeen, was responsible for the demise of the dark wizard Voldemort. He has written two books on the subject he teaches, and one of these, The Art of Practical Defense, is in its second printing. Mr. Potter is a Quidditch-enthusiast, and a sometime Seeker for pick-up games. He also plays the viola_."

"Terribly," Harry added.

Hermione scoffed. "That's not true! I mean, of course the first few months it was quite painful to listen to you practice, but you don't sound like a dying cat when you play anymore."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I sounded like a dying cat? You never said that! Neither did Ron, come to think of it."

"Well, I didn't want to discourage you, and Ron didn't even hear you. He just cast _silencio_ on the door. Besides, you can play real music now. It's been four years of lessons, right?"

"Three. And I still sound like a dying cat from time to time," Harry said, nudging her gently. He expected Hermione to either scoff again or laugh.

Hermione did not scoff, and she did not laugh. She just smiled at him.

"I am so proud of you," she said quietly, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "And I'm sure if Jo had seen that card, she'd be even prouder of you than I."

Harry grinned at her and they started off.

"Which is difficult, mind you," Hermione finished, as they reached the doors and stepped out into the chilly night, "As I am pretty bloody proud."

THE END

* * *

And there it is, folks. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for your support! I have other stories in the oven, and they should be appearing reasonably soon. :)

Cheers,

Kiki 8-)


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